


Where Our Story Ends

by Pixiestick_cc



Series: If You're Lonely Press Play Universe [6]
Category: Over the Garden Wall (Cartoon)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Child Abandonment, Deleted Scenes, F/M, Family, Hurt/Comfort, Mild Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-20
Updated: 2017-12-15
Packaged: 2019-01-20 10:42:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12431112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pixiestick_cc/pseuds/Pixiestick_cc
Summary: A visit from his father leaves Wirt shaken, but also puts him on a path to healing some of his old wounds.





	1. Chapter 1

-It's that little souvenir, of a terrible year  
which makes my eyes feel sore-

The Sundays

* * *

It was raining, and the gloomy gray of clouds generating torrents for the world outside matched Wirt’s mood. A mood he was accustomed to. Not so much anymore, but during the first half of his teens there’d been a constant despondency coating his insides like thick tar. But that was before Beatrice, Greg, and him had become a force to be reckoned with over on the other side of the garden wall. Since then he’d gained a better disposition on life, a girlfriend, and also a brother.

Greg had always been his brother, but now it was more than just a label forced on him by his mom when she placed a baby boy into his arms at the hospital and said, “Smile for the camera, big brother Wirt.”

_He’s not my brother, not really …_

Wirt was still bitter about the divorce back then, not understanding why his mom decided to move up north to live with Grandma and Grandpa after dad walked out one day and didn’t come back.  

_Speaking of labels put on a person after the birth of someone._

Moving had taken him away from dad and the possibility that he might come back. He left some of his movies. He had to come get those. Or at least five year old Wirt had childishly reasoned.

Ben (his _step_ -dad) and Gregory (his _half_ -brother) were reminders that his own dad was a deadbeat. Wirt understood that now. It was his dad who was the bad guy. But at nine years old it was much easier to blame everyone else. Blame mom, because she left. Blame Grandma, because she introduced mom to Ben. Blame Ben, because he made them move again after the wedding, even farther north to a place that was cold. Blame Greg because he was a dumb baby with a dumb face and another thing that tied his mom to Ben.

But now Wirt only blamed Scott. Scott- the dad in question-  was the reason he was feeling particularly gloomy that day.

Wirt let the widow curtain he’d pulled aside, fall back into place. Sara was late. Probably because of the rain. “Do I really need to meet with him after school?” Wirt groaned, turning around to face his mom, who was busy trying to convince Greg that his shoes were not for his hands. His question came out sounding like the whine of a petulant child, which was how Scott made him feel every time he showed up.

She sighed, preoccupied with her task, but looked up to give Wirt a sympathetic smile. “You know him. We never know when he’s going to be on this side of the country.”

_Yeah, and he only ever gives us a few hours warning beforehand._

“But last time he just took me to an all ages show to watch his band. Which wasn’t very good, I might add. And then he just left me alone while he played the show. I sat at a table by myself the entire time. We hardly had any interaction at all.” Wirt paused, trying to quell the anger slowly churning in his stomach at the memory. It didn’t work. “You know he only does this to make himself feel better. It’s always about him and I don’t want to give Scott the courtesy of being able to say, I visited my son this year, so I must be a good person and not the shitty dad I really am.”

“Wirt!” his mom scolded. Forgetting Greg’s shoes were in her hands, she used them to cover her younger son’s ears- something he seemed very enthusiastic about.

“Oh, thanks, mom. I guess they really are ear cups. I should have known.”

She removed the shoes and shot Wirt a stern look. “I don’t care if he really is ... that thing you said. You don’t swear in front of your brother. Or at all.”

“What’s a swear?” Greg asked. “Is that when Wirt gets grumpy? I can tell he’s grumpy.”

“It’s nothing, sweetheart … just hold still, so I can put your other shoe on.”

Wirt shrugged off her reprimand but then thinking better of it, apologized. “I wish he didn’t think it was okay to just come in and disrupt things. I had plans tonight.”

“Well, you could always take Beatrice along with you. Maybe your dad would like to meet her. You _have_ been dating for almost a year.” His mom stood, finally succeeding in wrangling Greg into his shoes.

Wirt let out a hard laugh. “I won’t subject Beatrice to him. He’s _my_ burden.”

“Oh, honey, stop being so…” she struggled for a word. “You.”

“Gee thanks. Who would you rather me be? Greg?”

Greg ran into Wirt and wrapped his arms around his middle. “You can’t be me. I’m already me.”

Wirt patted his brother’s head. “You’re right. You have enough energy and enthusiasm for the both of us. Two rays of sunshine would blind everyone.”

“I want to be the sunshine that cheers you up. Don’t be grumpy. Here have a penny.” Greg reached into his pocket and pulled out the copper coin he’d mentioned. Wirt opened his palm and let his brother drop the penny into it. “Pick a penny up, all day long you’ll have good luck,” he quoted in a sing-songy voice. “Well, you didn’t pick that up, but we don’t have to tell them that.”

“Tell who that,” Wirt inquired with a chuckle.

“The people who said that.”

“But _you_ said that,” Wirt corrected, a smile wanting to break free past his gloom.

“Not really. I copied it. Don’t tell them I did that either,” Greg’s voice was hushed.

“Okay, Greg. It’ll be our secret.” In the face of his brother’s cheeriness, it was almost possible for Wirt to forget about Scott and the strained father/son interaction that would likely ensue later.

Walking over to her children, their mom gently pulled the brothers apart. “Hey, why don’t you go watch some cartoons until your bus gets here,” she suggested to her youngest. He didn’t have to be told twice, zipping out of the foyer with a loud _whoop_ , giving her exactly what she wanted- alone time with her eldest. Wirt had a feeling he was about to be patronized. “When you get older, you’ll look back on this and be glad you got to know your father at least a little bit. I’ve forgiven him. You should too. Forgiveness is the only way you can get past your anger and find inner peace.” She placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

His mom’s descent into meditation and yoga as a remedy for being abandoned by her husband was still something she preached. Wirt had always thought it was a bunch of garbage. She was just in denial. “I’ll forgive him when he actually shows contrition.”

Before his mom could shower him with any more of her hokey philosophy, a loud honk came from the driveway outside and Wirt shrugged out of his mom’s hold to lift his hood over his head. “See ya,” he mumbled and ran into the drenched world outside. Upon reaching Sara’s car, he yanked the passenger side door open and nearly slipped. Only his grip on the handle kept him from falling into the puddle that had caused the stumble.

“Ugh, what a miserable day,” Wirt greeted her when he finally stepped inside and shut the door.

“Tell me about it,” a nasally voice came from the backseat. Surprised, Wirt whipped his head around to see Funderberker sitting alongside his girlfriend Colleen.

_This is new._

“Oh, hey,” Wirt said uneasily. “Didn’t know there were going to be more members to the carpool.”

“Wirt, this isn’t a carpool. If it were you’d be giving me rides too and sorry, I’m not getting on the back of your bike,” Sara joked.

She was right. Sara was more like a taxi service that he paid for by being her tutor in calculus. But normally, Wirt was the only passenger. He was still without a car and had refused to spend Junior year riding the bus again. Instead, Wirt had pleaded with Sara, begging her to be his ride to school every day. Of course, it hadn’t even been an issue. She’d said yes right away and Wirt kicked himself for being too timid to ask until junior year. He could have avoided a lot more bus confrontations with bullies.

“Sorry, I’m late,” Sara continued, glancing behind her to back out of Wirt’s driveway. “These two called me while I was on my way, and I had to turn around.”

“Yeah, my car was waterlogged this morning; someone left my windows open,” Funderberker said, looking at Colleen meaningfully. She blushed under his stare. Their back and forth made Wirt think there must not be any animosity between them over it.

“So, I not only had to pick this dork up but her too,” Sara explained. Jason was usually Colleen’s ride and without his car, it meant they were both stranded.

“Oh,” was all Wirt could think of to say, and he turned back around in his seat.

“I bet we’re not the only ones late today, though. It’s just a mess outside,” Sara complained, then added, “And I guess without a car, that means I’ll be playing chaperone for you two tonight, which means no kissing while in my car when your driver doesn’t have a date of her own.”

“Whaaat?” Funderberker whined, pretending it wasn’t the case for him and Colleen to be found making out in his car. Wirt involuntarily shuddered at the thought.

“Do you think you’d be able to add one more person to your car ride tonight?” Wirt asked, moving his train of thought back to last night’s unfortunate phone call from Scott.

“What’d you mean?” Sara asked, glancing briefly his way, but then turning her attention back to the treacherous road conditions outside.

“I need you to pick Beatrice up from the wa ... I-I uh mean the bus stop around four. My dad is meeting me after school for his every two years quality time.” He didn’t try to hide the bitterness in his voice.

Sara knew about his dad. Wirt wasn’t one to let others into that dark side of his life- not even Beatrice yet- but Sara had been told enough over the years that she recognized Scott visiting wasn’t a happy event for him. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she sympathized. “Don’t worry about Beatrice. I’ve got her covered, and when you’re done with your dad we’ll pick you up. Too bad you’ll be missing the movies though. I guess that also means you can’t get us free tickets anymore. So rude!”

“Sorry,” Wirt grimaced.

“I was just teasing, Wirt. You know that, right?” Sara’s smile was comforting as she glanced over, and he was able to force himself into returning the gesture.

“Heh, yeah,” he replied. “I knew that ... just on edge you know.”

Sara responded by reaching across the seat divider and grasping his hand. She was facing forward again, but he knew her words were meant for him when she said, “It’ll be okay. It’s just a few hours and then back to normal. Well, as normal as it can be for someone like you.”

It was a moment between friends that harkened back to those three weeks they dated. Sara was always kind to him, but the tenderness wasn’t always there like it used to be … and that was fine. He was with Beatrice now. But sometimes platonic relationships could form their own kind of intimacy and Wirt was glad he had someone like Sara in his life; a friend who not only cared for him, but for his girlfriend as well. “Thanks,” Wirt replied. “I hope you’re right.”

Funny how he could face something like The Beast and still be nervous about spending time with his own dad.

* * *

 

“We don’t really have to go to the movies, do we?” Beatrice asked, yanking the perfume sample from Sara’s magazine and rubbing it on her neck. She was sprawled across her friend’s computer chair, in a way it was not supposed to be used, while going through each of her fashion magazines and tearing away perfume ads. Sara was across the room at her small vanity, staring into its mirror as she applied makeup.

“Why? Don’t you want to see the movie?” She turned around to look at Beatrice and after seeing what she was up to, added. “Stop putting so many of those on. I won’t be able to sit next to you if you smell like a perfume store.”

“I thought these were supposed to make you smell good.”

“Not when you combine them all into one big scent. _Jesus_ haven’t I taught you anything?” Sara joked, but it fell flat and Beatrice snickered.

“Mostly I just block you out when you start talking about all that dumb fashion stuff.” Perfume wasn’t fashion, but Beatrice lumped it in anyways. Sara’s magazines always seemed stuffed to the brim with samples, so there had to be some connection. But it didn’t matter really because she didn’t care; she was just bored. Crumpling the used ad into a ball, Beatrice threw it into the wastebasket, then using the foot she had placed on the ground as leverage, she spun the chair.

Sara began to speak while the room blurred around Beatrice. “Hey, I take pride in having many different interests, and I don’t think you can label fashion as dumb just because it’s not your thing,” Sara stated, from somewhere in the blur. “That’s like me saying, dating a nerdy guy who recites poetry is dumb.”

“But you did do that,” Beatrice reminded, forcing the chair to stop by returning her foot to the ground. A few curls flew in front of her face from the abrupt end to her spin, and she ran a hand through them in order to see again.

“And it was dumb,” Sara chuckled. “I love Wirt, but it was … well, you know. It’s not like you haven’t heard that story before. We just make better friends. But you know, back to my point, he’s not dumb for _you_. To each their own.”

“Yeah, I know,” Beatrice replied with a sigh. “Sorry, I’m being grumpy, guess I’m a little upset at my _nerdy guy who recites poetry_.”

“Why? For not going to movies with us? You just said _you_ didn’t want to go.”

Beatrice’s mouth twisted briefly into a pout. “Because it was _his_ idea. He’s the one that’s a huge nerd for _Austen_. Do we really need to see another movie adaptation of her books? I’ve seen them all, even the ones that look more like your world than mine.”

“Hey, I’m the one who showed you _Clueless_ , and you liked it,” Sara reminded, her finger raised in the air, meant to be a warning that she would argue with Beatrice if she tried to deny it.

"Not to mention,” Beatrice raised her voice, choosing to ignore Sara rather than admit she was right, “the only reason Funderberker and Colleen are coming along is so they can make out in something other than his car.”

“Oh, like you’re any less guilty of making out in theaters.” Sara clucked her tongue in mock disapproval.

“Yeah, but Wirt always picks the theater with the least amount of people, and it’s only on his breaks. You can bet Funderberker will have his tongue shoved down Colleen’s throat for the entire two hours.” Beatrice made a face intending to be disgust played for a laugh, but it ended up conveying her own true feelings on the matter.

“Well, we don’t have to go if you don’t really want to, but you shouldn’t be mad at Wirt. It’s not his fault his dad just showed up in town without warning.”

Beatrice shrugged. “I’m not mad, just … disappointed. It’s not like Wirt couldn’t have brought me along. We hardly ever see each other, and besides, maybe I want to meet this father I literally know nothing about. Wirt knows each and every member of my family - even my grandparents- while he hides this one part of himself from me. Do you know I’ve never seen any pictures of Wirt earlier than him at five? I know he has some, his mother is into that scrapbooking stuff, so they’re all these elaborately put together albums, and I’ve seen most of them, but there are two that I’m not allowed near. Wirt says it would embarrass him, but I know it’s really because his father is in them.”

Sara stared meaningfully at Beatrice while she complained, nodding in all the right places, but clearly, she already had a reply waiting for when the grumbling ended. “Wirt doesn’t tell anyone about his dad, it’s not just you,” she explained. “The only reason I know anything is because we had a moment once when I started getting weird after Colleen’s mom took her and me out for lunch on her birthday. You know him, he’s always able to read people, and asked me what was up. I told him I was feeling down about not having a mom and he mentioned how even with a stepdad, he’s basically fatherless. So, I know some stuff about his dad … and trust me, the guy isn’t worth meeting.”

“Why?”

Sara appeared uncomfortable by the question and leaned back in her chair. “It’s not my place to say,” she finally replied, and Beatrice exaggerated a groan while narrowing her gaze.

“I’ve never known you not to let me in on a secret when it pertains to Wirt.” Since she began dating him, Sara had let Beatrice in on many things about Wirt that she probably shouldn’t have- things that were stored away in her head for a rainy day tease when the sting of embarrassment wasn’t as fresh in Wirt’s memory. But Wirt’s father was apparently a different kind of secret.

“It’s not the same. He’ll tell you when he’s ready,” Sara replied with a sympathetic smile that provoked an old reflexive reaction in Beatrice. She hated when others thought she needed to be coddled.

“Yeah, well, whatever,” she tried to sound unaffected and spun her chair again while Sara turned back to the vanity.

“Do you really want me to tell Colleen and Jason we’re not going?” Sara asked.

Beatrice stared up at the revolving ceiling as the chair continued to whirl. “Yeah, I’d rather we just do something else.”

Because seeing a _Jane Austen_ movie without Wirt just didn’t seem right anyway. 


	2. Chapter 2

The rain persisted throughout the morning and into the afternoon, with a few breaks scattered here and there, but nothing substantial enough to clear away the mess. This meant that when Wirt stepped outside at the end of the school day, the world was still as dreary as it had been at the outset … and so was his temper. He’d tried to keep his bitterness from bleeding into everything around him, but all that shoved aside angst only festered in the darkness along with the other shadows inside. By the time Wirt was standing alone under the school’s awning, waiting for Scott, it was taking all the self-control he possessed to keep the plans his dad had made for them. He entertained the thought of leaving, seeing something in his head that was very dramatic with him stalking off, refusing to get inside the car.

The flash of headlights suddenly appearing through the rain, blinded Wirt momentarily, but after moving to the side, he was able to make out the familiar shape of his dad sitting in the front seat of a car. He was an hour late. Scott wasn’t going to get out to greet him either, Wirt assumed after a few seconds of the two staring at each other and then his dad revving the engine. He felt a mixture of irritation and defiance while approaching the vehicle, ready to say exactly what was on his mind. Yet, when faced with Scott in the flesh, and not just some visceral image that evoked hatred, Wirt’s defiance withered. He once again was just a boy in front of his father.

“Hey, Wirt,” Scott greeted after his son slid inside the car, but there wasn’t much greet in his tone. It sounded more like an offhanded comment and not the reunion of father and son after two years of separation.

“Hey,” Wirt mumbled back. He didn’t look at his dad at first, focusing instead on repeatedly running a hand through his wet hair, an action that was more nervous tick than anything that actually needed to be done. But then he was forced to look because a long silence stretched between them, making him feel awkward … even more than usual.

Finally glancing over at Scott, Wirt noticed his dad was preoccupied with texting. “Wow, you can’t even focus on me when I’m right in front of you,” he said under his breath.

“What’s that?” his dad asked, eyes still glued to his phone.

“Uh, n-nothing ... well, it’s just that, I was wondering if we were going to actually go anywhere. You’ve been idling in the parking lot for three minutes.” Wirt kept his voice from overflowing with the resentment pulsating inside him. He’d try to get through the next few hours without breaking. It would be easier for everyone this way. And if he was being honest, he just didn’t have it in him to put up a fight.

“Oh, yeah, just dealing with shit- you know,” Scott replied, finally glancing up at his son, and for the first time since entering the car, Wirt got a good look at him. He was startled to see his dad appear relatively decent for once. Gone was the bushy beard that had been a staple as long as Wirt could remember. A few of his earliest memories were of playfully grasping the hairs protruding from Scott’s chin. He didn’t look as skinny either, and his hair, while still long- falling down to his shoulders- now appeared as if a comb had been run through it. Before, his dad resembled a cardboard cutout of a struggling musician- which is what he had been for all of Wirt’s life. But now for the first time, he looked like an actual adult and not just some guy stuck in a state of arrested development.

Wirt shook off his daze and asked, “So uh, were we going somewhere?”

“Right, right." Scott nodded and shoved his phone into the pocket of his leather jacket. “I thought we could go to that place you like so much, with the video games. Like last time.”

Wirt internally groaned. It had been a stretch for him two years ago when Scott brought him to _Chuck E. Cheese_. He’d offered it up as a place to eat before he dragged Wirt along to see his band play. Wirt hadn’t objected, but even at fourteen, he’d been too old. He assumed his dad must not be around kids all that much. “I’m too old for that. I just turned seventeen,” Wirt objected.

“Too old for video games?”

“Too old to be in a place that smells like feet and vomit, because everyone else there is about ten years younger than me and doesn’t know how to bathe properly,” Wirt groused, but did it in such a way that it came off as happily sarcastic. He was playing the role of happy camper.

“Oh, yeah, it was your birthday uh ... two weeks ago?”

“A month, but who’s counting.”

“Right, well, I, uh ... here,” Scott reached into the backseat of his car and pulled out a CD. “We just had them made. Not for sale yet.”

Wirt took the CD and examined its jewel case. The cover shot of the group utilized the tired trope of hard-rock aesthetic- black and white with everyone posing like they were angry. But then he noticed the name of his dad’s band had changed, and asked, “You’re in a new band?”

“Well, not technically,” Scott rubbed the back of his neck. “Harry and Trent left, so we had to get a new drummer and bass player, and we figured with new members it was time for a new name, and you know it’s been pretty good for about a year now. We've even gotten some radio play out West.”

Wirt had no idea who Harry and Trent were but nodded all the same. “Uh, thanks,” he said, holding up the gift he probably wouldn't ever listen to. Wirt didn’t even own a CD player anymore. Everything was cassettes and records. He shoved the album into the backpack at his feet.

“So, what does a seventeen year old do for fun?” Scott asked and Wirt shrugged.

 _Not hang out with their deadbeat dad_ he thought, but substituted it for the less confrontational, “Eat food at a place frequented by adults.” Wirt used his sarcastic voice again and his dad chuckled.

“Okay, one adult meal coming up for my grown-ass son.”

* * *

 

Wirt had to admit the restaurant Scott chose for their early dinner was far better than _Chuck E. Cheese,_ but sadly, he couldn’t say the same about the company. Despite his dad’s slight uptick in appearance, he was still the same self-centered jerk. He half paid attention as Scott went on about his band and how things were looking up for the first time in years. Wirt somehow found it hard to participate in the celebratory attitude when none of that success would trickle down to him. He’d still be ignored, save for a child support check mailed to his mom once a month.

“And we’re opening for _Klaw_ tomorrow night! That's _Klaw with a K_. I can get you and a friend backstage passes if you’d like,” Scott enthusiastically said at one point during their meal, after taking a gulp of his beer. Wirt noted that it was his fourth.

 _Seriously? Klaw with a K?_ Wirt forced himself to swallow the snarky remark he wanted to make about the band's ridiculous name, and instead mumbled, “I don’t know them," while absently picking up a fry.

His dad looked shocked. “You don’t know them? Wirt, I’m ashamed to call you my son.” He was joking, but Wirt felt the sting of it all the same.

“Is that why you haven’t visited in two years? You're ashamed?” he spoke without thinking, losing his composure for a moment and letting his true emotions show.

Scott arched an eyebrow but didn’t respond to Wirt’s mild bout of anger, choosing instead to change the subject. “So, if you haven’t uh heard of _them_ , then what kind of music do you like?”

 _Oh wow a question pertaining to me?_ Wirt internalized his biting sarcasm rather than continuing on through the door he’d opened with his retort. He wanted to keep things civil and get the evening over with without a fight.

Wirt answered his dad’s question by listing off a few indie artists that were currently receiving the binge treatment by him- ones he also assumed Scott’s limited taste in music wouldn’t give him a clue as to who they were. Sure enough, the skin between his dad’s eyebrows creased as he struggled through saying, “Bun Irving?” in response to the name _Bon Iver_ , and if Wirt hadn’t been so annoyed he might have laughed.

It reminded him of Beatrice, and his mind flashed an image of all the times she’d screwed up the names of musicians he liked. Her naivety was endearing though because she was trying to understand Wirt’s world, having come from one that was very different than his. Scott, on the other hand, just had a very narrow view of music.

Wirt wondered what Beatrice was doing at that moment, thinking back to the disappointed text he’d received from her seconds before leaving Scott's car to enter the restaurant. He hoped his dad didn’t have any plans for them after their meal. Maybe he could meet up with his friends. If it ended soon, they might be able to still catch the movie.

But even if that didn’t happen, Writ knew he wasn’t going to sit through any of his dad’s rehearsals for the next day's show, and assuming Scott’s concert was in one of the larger towns nearby, he wasn’t about to make the long drive with him either. The majority of musical performances that took place where Wirt lived were student recitals with parents making up the obligatory audience in attendance. Wirt had played plenty of those with his clarinet, although Scott hadn’t been around to see any of them. Did his dad even know he played the clarinet?

As Wirt let his mind wander, Scott’s phone emitted the same notification noise it had four other times during the course of their meal. The sound reminded Wirt of some rock riff that had been popular about twenty years back. Usually, Wirt wasn’t one to sneer at somebody clinging to outdated things because of his own lack of keeping up with the times, but this was Scott … his penchant for holding onto the past was more about clinging to his youth.

His dad removed the noisy phone from his pocket, and Wirt looked away with a sigh, turning back again only from the shock of hearing Scott mutter, “Damn cunt,” as he replied to whatever text he’d received.

Wirt stiffened at the insult. It wasn’t something he or those in his circle of friends would ever say, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard it. Maybe watching a movie. In any case, it made Wirt angry. Scott was a terrible person to him, but it was more for his lack of involvement. This type of terrible wasn’t anything Wirt was comfortable with. “Who are you texting?” he asked tentatively.

Scott looked up from his phone. “Oh, uh sorry. I’ve got another kid now and it’s … complicated.”

“Oh, Jane had a baby?” Wirt asked. He thought his girlfriend’s name was Jane. Wirt had seen pictures of her last time.

“Jane? No, Jane and me- that was a long time ago, Wirt. Keep up. No, but uh, this is some bitch I barely know. But she had a kid … a boy, and it’s mine. We did the test thing and now she wants to constantly complain that I’m never around.” Scott shoved his phone back in his pocket. “I should just block her number.”

_So, I have another half-brother. One I probably won’t meet anytime soon._

Wirt felt something akin to bile building in the back of his throat at his dad’s callousness. “Yeah, what an inconvenience for you. Having to spend time with your kid,” he replied flatly. “So terrible.”

Scott didn’t seem to register the underhandedness of Wirt’s sarcasm at first, but a few seconds later, he went on the defensive. “Hey, that’s not the same. I don’t know this kid at all.”

“And what? Do you think you know me? You left mom and have barely stayed in contact ever since. This kid is going to experience exactly the same as me. I feel sorry for him. I mean, did you even know I got lost in the woods for days last year?”

Well, actually no one knew about that except Greg, Beatrice, and Sara. The garden wall had shifted time so that he’d returned with his brother only hours after originally climbing over. Scott’s eyebrows shot up in response to the mention and Wirt searched for another example of his dad’s lack of interest in him. “Well, I mean, it wasn’t that bad, not really days, but I uh … it’s how I met my girlfriend and we’ve been dating for almost a year. That’s not something you would know, though, because you don’t know me. And I care a lot about Beatrice, and I guarantee that if she were pregnant I wouldn’t abandon her or call her a … _cunt_.” Wirt shuddered at the word.

“Are you using protection, Wirt? You need to use protection, that’s how they get you,” Scott replied, and Wirt let out a frustrated noise as he stood.

“We’re not even … that’s not the point. The point is I’m nothing like you, and I don’t _even_ like you. I’m seventeen now. It’s too late for you to get to know me, even if you really wanted to, which you don’t.” As Wirt spoke, the volume of his voice slowly rose until it was just short of a yell and it surprised him. Standing up to Scott wasn’t something Wirt ever thought he was capable of doing. But here he was … finally letting him know how he felt.

Scott rose to his feet seconds after Wirt, his expression flashing a warning. That was when Wirt became vaguely aware of the eyes of other patrons staring at them. “Sit down. I don’t need any bad publicity. Not when things are going so well.”

Wirt let out a hard laugh, the high he felt urging him forward into dangerous territory, “As if you needed to worry about that. You’ll never be anything but a mediocre guitar player in a watered down joke of a rock band. No one cares about you, Scott. Not even me.”

His dad’s face contorted, showcasing an emotion Wirt wasn’t able to fully read until he was right in front of him, fists grasping his collar. He smelled the alcohol on Scott’s breath just before he used his strength to throw his son down onto the restaurant floor. Wirt groaned as he felt the side of his face smack into the tile and a pain shot up through his cheek. And that was when reality hit him. The impact jolted Wirt towards the truth. He couldn’t stand up to his dad, and as his courage faded, embarrassment took its place. He looked up bewildered and saw one of the servers holding his dad back. He didn’t want to stick around and see the outcome. Scrambling to his feet, he bolted towards the restaurant doors, while also placing a finger underneath his nostrils to catch the start of a bloody nose.


	3. Chapter 3

“Why did we cancel our trip to the movies if all we were gonna do is stay at Wirt’s and watch _a_ _movie_?" Sara wasn’t complaining, more of a bored observation. She had seen this particular cast of animated characters go through the same plot points one too many times and wasn’t shy about letting those around her know.

But that hadn’t stopped Greg from popping the DVD into the player. Or Beatrice from mercilessly teasing her friend throughout the film.

“Because,” Beatrice answered from her position sandwiched between Sara and Greg on the couch. “How else could we have learned that ogres are actually pretty cool?” Then turning to Greg, she took a handful of popcorn from the bowl in his lap and added, “Where I come from, they generally don’t have agreeable personalities _or_ their own theme song.” She shoved the popcorn in her mouth, quickly ate it, and then went into a loud rendition of this particular song. “SOMEbody once told me-” but her attempt to annoy Sara affected the wrong person and she was forced to stop her off-key singing when Greg shushed her.

“This is my favorite part.”

Sara snorted. “Yeah, his favorite part, Beatrice. Stop being rude,” she said as if she actually cared.

Beatrice showed them both her palms in surrender and let the scene of the bad guy being eaten by a dragon play without commentary. “I cannot believe _that_ is your favorite scene,” she derided once the dragon let out a loud burp of satisfaction. “He was eaten whole!” Beatrice shook her head in disapproval. “You’re so brutal, Greg.”

“Nuh-uh. Brutal means fighting and you like to punch Wirt all the time,” he replied.

Sara snickered and Beatrice tried to look offended by Greg’s claim. “Those are love taps. And anyway, he likes them.”

“No. I don’t think so. Love taps are kisses. Wirt likes those when they’re from you. But not mom and me. Sometimes he lets grandma give him a kiss. But you’re his favorite.”

Beatrice’s face grew hot as Sara laughed over Greg’s innocent yet _brutally_ honest observation. “Alright, now you’ve done it. You’ve angered the ogre within,” she growled and playfully attacked Greg. Some wrestling ensued that ended with popcorn being spilled across the carpet and Beatrice letting Greg think he had her trapped in a headlock. “Okay, okay. I give in. You got me,” she panted.

“You never had a chance, ogre. Not against Greg the Great.” He made an ear-splitting whooping noise followed by a victory lap around the room.

“Is that what you’re calling yourself now? Greg the Great?” Beatrice asked once he stopped running and the two began tossing the displaced popcorn back in its bowl. “I really am a bad influence on you. Where’s Wirt? We need him to douse you with some of that melodramatic humility he’s known for because I’m sorry to say, you have a bad case of the Beatrice ego.”

“Yeah, where _is_ Wirt?” Sara asked, pulling out her phone and staring at the screen. “He said he would be done almost an hour ago.”

“That’s okay, we can just watch the next movie while we wait,” Greg suggested. “There’s four in all. And the second one is the best.”

“Four? Did you hear that, Sara? Four ogre movies!” Beatrice made her voice annoyingly loud, feigning excitement for her friend’s benefit, but Sara was preoccupied.

“He’s not answering my texts either,” she complained.

Beatrice let out a loud sigh. “Let the girlfriend deal with this,” she said, leaving the last few pieces of popcorn for Greg, and snatching Sara’s phone to call Wirt. The same ring came and went a few times before a recorded voice asked her to please leave a message. This, in and of itself, wasn’t so weird. Wirt rarely answered his phone. Several times she had seen him let calls go unanswered because his anti-social-self hated getting pulled into conversations.

_“They can leave me a message if it’s so important.”_

But he always answered when it was Sara’s phone, especially when Beatrice was with her. “Wirt, you’re almost an hour late and everyone’s wondering where you are. Can you call, so I don’t start worrying and make an idiot of myself? Because you know that’s your job, not mine.” A little tease, to help ease herself away from thinking the worst. He was fine.

“His text made it seem like he would be getting out of there as soon as possible,” Sara said, taking her phone back.

“Maybe it ended up being not as bad as he thought,” Beatrice supposed, but Sara looked dubious.

“I can’t imagine Wirt wanting to stick around. If he’s still there, it’s because he doesn’t have a way out. Guy really needs to get his own car so he’s able to bail in situations like this.”

“We could go help him,” Beatrice suggested, but Sara's response was less than enthusiastic.

“I don’t know about that.”

“No, hear me out,” Beatrice begged, trying to sound self-assured like she just knew her plan would work. “Let’s go to the restaurant. Maybe he’s still there.”

“You want to spy on your boyfriend? Beatrice, that’s iffy territory. Even for you. At least for a touchy situation like this. Did you forget? Wirt doesn’t want us involved when it comes to his dad.”

“Or maybe he does want us there. We could make up some excuse for him, like he has a ... uh … emergency clarinet concert. If his father is really that awful, he wouldn’t even consider hanging around for that.”

“Yeah, that’s because Writ’s dad is shitty,” a loud voice suddenly declared, providing a contrast to their hushed conversation.

Beatrice and Sara stared stunned at the eight year old who had joined them back on the couch and seemed to have acquired the mouth of a sailor. “Yeah, we definitely need to find Wirt, because I think I broke Greg,” Beatrice said, ruffling his hair.

Greg appeared blissfully unaware that he’d done anything out of the ordinary until his mom rushed into the room from the kitchen where she’d been busy cooking. “Gregory David Hall, I already told you that saying the S word is not something little boys are allowed to do. I’m so sorry, girls.” She made an apologetic face.

“But Wirt said it this morning,” Greg replied.

“Looks like it might not be you who’s the bad influence,” Sara whispered through a chuckle.

“Well, if Wirt is swearing, he’s definitely not being himself,” Beatrice softly responded. “All the more reason we should go rescue him.”

After a long exaggerated sigh, Sara finally surrendered. “Fine, but if this blows up in our faces you’re taking the fall.” Then in the same breath, she raised the pitch of her voice and turned on the charm. “Looks like we’re going to be leaving, Mrs. H. But thanks for letting us hang out with Greg.”

Wirt’s mom looked up from where she was kneeling in front of her youngest son, still lecturing him on why the S word was not allowed. “Oh, you’re not staying for dinner?”

Dinner hadn’t been part of the original plan, but after Wirt’s mother learned they were coming over, waiting for Wirt had turned into eating a meal with his family. “Save us some leftovers, we’ll be back soon. I just have to check on something at home,” Sara explained.

“Well, if you’re leaving can you keep an eye out for Wirt. He’s not answering his phone. I’ve tried calling several times.”

Sara and Beatrice exchanged looks, but neither mentioned that Wirt hadn’t been answering their calls either. “Sure. No problem. I think the restaurant he’s at is on the way. Me and Sara can take a quick look inside.” _Because that’s exactly what we're leaving to do anyway_. Beatrice didn’t like the idea of blaming Wirt’s mom- it felt like an underhanded move- but if somebody had to take the fall, she would rather it not be her.

Wirt’s mom thanked them, and the two friends headed into the foyer but stopped momentarily when Greg called out to them. “Yeah?” Beatrice yelled back.

“Don’t forget to watch out for shitty dragons that eat you whole,” he shouted, which was promptly followed by a loud gasp from his mother.

Sara choked on a laugh while Beatrice stifled hers with a hand over her mouth, but as soon as the two walked outside into the drizzling twilight, the mood changed to match the weather. “I hope nothing’s wrong,” Beatrice said. “If Wirt isn’t answering for his mom either then that might mean-”

“It could just be a lost phone,” Sara interrupted, as they got into her car. “It happens sometimes.”

She wanted to believe Sara’s reasoning for her boyfriend’s odd silence, but past experiences from her side of the wall reminded Beatrice that oftentimes people going missing meant something far more sinister than a simple lost phone.

 _Calm down, it’s not like that here_ she told herself, but when they reached the restaurant and found the inside Wirt-less, that little voice of panic began whispering in her ear again. “What do we do now?” she asked, anxiety flowing into her voice.

“Relax, Beatrice. We’ll just ask someone if they’ve seen him.”

The hostess wasn’t helpful at first. She had just come in for her shift and didn’t look like she wanted to be there or even talk to them, but eventually, after some pestering from Beatrice she called over a server who had been there for the last few hours. “Hey Jason, these two want to know if you’ve seen their uh … who was it again?” She loudly smacked her gum as if she would rather be doing literally anything else.

Beatrice sighed, mildly frustrated with her lack of urgency. “Short guy, brown hair that sticks up everywhere. He was probably mumbling poetry to himself.”

“Here,” Sara said, pulling her phone out and tapping it a few times. “This guy.” On the screen was a picture from Wirt’s last birthday. Sara was smiling, but Wirt looked unamused while wearing a party hat, and Beatrice appeared to be laughing at him. A perfect summary of their personalities distilled into a single photograph.

“Ohhh yeah." The server nodded his head. “That guy left his backpack. Hang on.” He then dashed through a door with an _Employees Only_ sign and returned seconds later carrying Wirt’s bag. But just before he was about to hand it over to Beatrice, Jason hesitated. “Wait, I dunno about this.” He jerked it back. “How do I know you actually know this guy?”

 _Oh boy, this one's about as dumb as a sack of hammers_.

“I’m his girlfriend,” Beatrice replied testily. “You just saw a picture of him with us on Sara’s phone.”

“Nah, I don’t know about that. Just ‘cause you have a picture with someone doesn’t mean he’s your friend. I mean, the guy he was here with looked cool too, but then he went and threw backpack boy to the ground. He had blood all over his face last I saw him.” Jason made an obnoxious noise that based on his hand gesture was supposed to resemble the sound of blood gushing.

“What?!” Beatrice yelled, smacking his hand down mid-blood-spurt reenactment. “Listen, dummy, I’m just trying to find my boyfriend and now you tell me he’s off somewhere bleeding because his dad threw him to the ground. Why wasn’t that the first thing you said when we showed you his picture, you dunce?”

Jason backed away a step. “Look, all I can tell you is that _that_ one,” he pointed at the grumpy Wirt on Sara’s phone, “took off. And the other was kicked out by my manager. Seriously, it was messed up. But also pretty cool. About as exciting as when that baby threw up all over Chrissy. You remember that, Beth?” He prodded the hostess who shrugged non-committedly. “It was awesome.”

Beatrice’s blood boiled at how Jason the idiot server was reacting to Wirt being assaulted. This wasn’t a joke, and the only reason he didn't get a fist to the face was because Sara- sensing the situation quickly careening out of control- took hold of Beatrice's already bunched up hand to keep her from raising it. “Hey, if Wirt is bleeding, then we need to go find him.”

“Yeah, okay,” Beatrice agreed, taking a few slow breaths to calm her temper. But she wasn’t willing to leave without retribution of some kind, and impulsively yanked Wirt’s book bag from the server before racing out the door. Jason yelled as Sara and Beatrice ran, but didn’t pursue them into the parking lot.

“Should we call his mom?” Sara asked once she had pulled her car out into the street. “I don’t want to embarrass Wirt by involving her, but this whole thing has taken a dark turn. I can’t believe his dad did that. Wirt always made him sound like a self-centered ass who drank too much, but didn't say anything about abuse.”

“Maybe Wirt set him off. Considering he's developed somewhat of a spine since coming back over the wall, I could see it happening," Beatrice speculated while rummaging through Wirt’s bag for clues. She found nothing out of the ordinary except a CD that didn’t look like anything he would ever listen to, but it did give her an idea. “I think I know where he might be. If he’s not there, then yeah, we should call his mom. But for now, let’s keep it between us. I don’t think it will help to drag more people into this. You know how sensitive he is.”

She was visualizing the new emotional scars this one interaction with his dad had likely inflicted, and Beatrice was determined not to exacerbate an already _shitty_ situation for Wirt. Because if anyone knew about painful scars, it was her.


	4. Chapter 4

_Keep your head down. Walk faster. No, that person isn’t staring at you. Well, maybe she is. She’s looking at the blood. They’re all looking at the blood. And your swollen cheek. Get out of the open. Out of the rain. Go hide. But where?_

It was the only place he could think of that was nearby. Wirt rushed through the door of the music resale shop and glanced at the register to see who stood behind it. A 30ish guy with a beard and brown hair down to his shoulders, wearing a T-shirt of some long-ago band, looked up at the sound of Wirt entering the store.

_Good, it’s Paul._

He’d be the one to ask for help. Wirt wasn’t on a first name basis with the other store employees. To them, he was just- _hey, kid_. They knew his face. He came here often enough for at least some recognition, but Paul was the only one who ever took the time to see him beyond just that. Mostly because he was super friendly with everyone and recognized a fellow musicophile in Wirt.

And now Wirt would try and use that to his advantage.

“Hey man, what’re you doing here?” Paul asked. “Something you need?”

Wirt didn’t respond until he was standing right in front of him. “Hey Paul,” he said, but with his head still down, trying to make the appearance of his injuries less jarring. It didn’t work. Paul still reacted the way Wirt hoped he wouldn’t.

“Aw shit! What the hell happened to you?” he exclaimed just a little too loudly, and a customer flipping through some used records glanced their way.

_Do I really look that bad?_

Wirt stared down at his blood-stained hoodie.

_Sure, I do._

“Oh that, it’s uh, not as bad as it looks- or maybe it is- I don’t really know- it’s hard to- to know- the thing is I’m not-” Wirt sighed. He couldn’t even talk about what happened without getting emotional, and finally settled on being as vague as possible. “It’s complicated,” he stated. That was the best he could do right now. “But really I just- I uh- need to hang out here for a while. Preferably in the back.” Paul had taken him there before, usually just to check out merchandise that wasn’t for sale yet, and Wirt hoped he’d do it again.

“You hiding from the person who did that?” Paul pointed at Wirt’s face.

“Sort of.”

Paul nodded slowly like he was about to give some sage advice, but instead said, “Fuck ‘em, bro. Jocks in high school are the worst. A jock did that, right? I got the shit beat outta me a couple times by them. Can’t handle someone who’s different.”

“No, uh, um it was actually a musician,” Wirt replied, noticing that the record browser had inched closer and was now looking through some nearby recording equipment. “I’ll tell you about it, but I need to get away from all the staring.” Wirt had lowered his voice, but the customer must’ve been listening intently because he darted his eyes away.

“Oh yeah, sure, man.” Paul stepped out from behind the counter, and after gesturing to a door near the back, he added, “My home is your home, or whatever the fuck that saying is.”

Wirt followed him, past the customer who’d dropped all pretenses and was now blatantly staring, and through the door. Once inside, Paul indicated a table he could sit at with an open donut box sitting in the center. “Go ahead and have one.” He shoved the box towards Wirt. “All the good ones are gone though. Dave is such a pig, man.”

“That’s okay, I’m not hungry,” Wirt said, pulling out a metal chair with hinges that squeaked when he sank into it. Glancing around, he saw shelves of used music products that hadn’t yet made it out to the floor. In one corner of the room was a restroom with a poster of _Jimi Hendrix_ taped over its half-opened door, and in the other was an emergency exit.

“It's just me tonight, so stay till closing if you need to,” Paul offered. “But if I’m letting you hide here I wanna know the story behind your fucked up face. A musician, huh? Probably some asshole guy with a mullet, right? I know those kind.”

Wirt thought his dad might’ve had one at some point. Didn’t all shitty rock musicians go through that phase? “Yeah,” he mumbled back.

“Figures,” Paul replied. “Well, you can tell me about it later. Gotta get back out there before that shifty-eyed guy takes something.” And then he walked through the door, leaving Wirt alone.

_Finally!_

Without the worry of his dad following or others staring, Wirt was free to acknowledge the emotions he’d been holding back for what felt like forever. But rather than fall apart in a place where Paul might see, he went into the restroom, closed the door, and sat down on the toilet’s lid. Then shoving his face in his hands, Wirt was overrun with self-loathing as he started to cry. He wasn’t ashamed of his tears. He just thought it was insane that they were over someone like Scott. Just like Paul said- _Fuck him!_ Why did he care so much? Wirt hated the guy. He should be glad his face was ruined. It was proof that he’d always been right. That his deadbeat dad wasn’t worth his time. He’d stood up to him and it had given Wirt an out. No way would his mom insist he spend time with Scott after today.

_So, why do I feel so miserable then?_

Was he ashamed for running, for being thrown to the ground while everyone stared and he did absolutely nothing? Should he have fought back? Could he have? Not likely. He’d been able to speak his mind at first but was stunned into silence after his dad had gotten physically violent. His well of courage ran dry, because around Scott he’d always revert back to a helpless coward. How was it possible that someone who was barely in your life at all could ruin it so completely in a matter of seconds? Scott should’ve been nobody to Wirt. And yet, that’s exactly who kept him sitting there with his head in his hands, crying.

Wirt didn’t pay attention to time. Didn’t know how long he was sitting there, just that after a while his pent up emotions ran their course. He was still angry and sad, but there wasn’t an urge to wallow in these emotions anymore. Sense came back, and Wirt wanted to inspect what everyone had been shrinking from as he walked through the rain. Just how bad did he look?

The restroom’s garish fluorescent light kept flickering as if he were in some horror movie, and Wirt half expected to see a monster when he went to examine himself in the mirror. It wasn’t so bad. Wasn’t good either. His cheek and the area around his right eye were swollen and tinged in dark pink. In two days it would be purple and likely to get even more gawking stares. His bloody nose had caked his nostrils in red, but the front of his hoodie was the worst. With nothing else available, Wirt had been forced to use the fabric to catch the steady stream of blood and it almost looked like he’d been stabbed repeatedly. Maybe this was a horror movie after all. He tried to improve his appearance by removing the hoodie but groaned after seeing the blood had soaked through to the shirt underneath. With an angry huff, he shoved the ruined hoodie in the trash, and then kicked the can over. The hoodie fell out along with some crumbled pieces of paper towels. Wirt went to kick the can again but stopped himself.

_You’re better than this._

Wirt usually dealt with emotions through written words that eventually became spoken poems and destroying the bathroom of the person letting you hide was probably counterproductive. Not to mention it was reminiscent of something his dad might do. With a heavy sigh that seemed to rattle his bones, Wirt retrieved his hoodie and the loose pieces of trash, before righting the can again, and shoving everything back inside. Then turning his shirt backwards, so the blood wouldn't be the first thing others saw, he exited the restroom, intent on solving his angst in a less destructive way.

If he got his notebook out he could write something down, maybe make himself feel a little less like the trash he’d just picked up. Problem was he didn’t have his notebook. Or even his backpack. He’d rushed from the restaurant so quickly that it was left behind.

Along with everything inside it. _Like my phone_.

He should call Beatrice. Wirt didn’t know how much time had passed since he’d made his escape, but by now his girlfriend was probably wondering where he was. Possibly worried. Maybe Paul had a phone he could use. Wirt could tell her he was running late. Give himself a little more time before another round of humiliation hit when she saw how he’d been roughed up. He had no doubt she’d try to reassure him. It's what she always did in situations like this. Just like when her brother Andrew had threatened his life and he'd nearly fainted. It didn't matter to Beatrice that Wirt tended to crumble in moments of distress. But it did to him. He was a coward who couldn’t fight back and needed his girlfriend’s support. She was the fighter. He was the wimp.

Wirt fell back into the chair, angry tears stinging his eyes. _Not this again._

And then the sound of his name caused his heart to leap into his throat. In shock, he whipped his head towards the door and then remembering he’d been crying, Wirt frantically swiped at his cheeks. She was standing there quietly, with worry written all over her freckled face. Her hair was a dark red and limp, having been soaked by the rain. “Oh, uh w-what’re you doing here?” Wirt stuttered, running his hand through his hair a few times, indulging in that nervous tick again.

The skin between Beatrice’s eyes wrinkled, as a slight shift from worry to frustration took over her features. “What do you think? Looking for you,” she said exasperatedly and then hurried over to him.


	5. Chapter 5

“H-how did you find me?” Wirt asked as Beatrice pulled up a chair in front of him and started inspecting his face. When he withdrew from her touch, she tried not to take it personally. If Wirt was feeling self-conscious, she wouldn’t push him.

“Actually, I’m surprised my guess was right,” Beatrice answered, reaching down into his bag after dropping it to her feet. “The only place I’ve seen these before is here.” Wirt took the CD she held out for him. “And so I thought it would be a good starting point. Lucky guess. Glad I was right.”

Wirt didn’t reply. Instead, he just quietly stared at the image on the front of the CD. A defeated look shrouded his features in gloom, and it created a strong desire in Beatrice to comfort him. He seemed so small and fragile. But she had to be careful. Touching him had already provoked a negative reaction. Maybe slowly approaching what happened with his father might help, and with that in mind Beatrice opened her mouth to broach the subject but was shocked into silence at the sight of Wirt suddenly hurling his music to the ground. He didn’t explain why, and refused to even look at her, his eyes steady on the clenched fists in his lap.

It took Beatrice a few moments, but her voice eventually returned enough to joke, “So, wild guess here, but I’m assuming that’s not a band you like.”

Her attempt to ease the tension left behind by his outburst worked. Wirt shook his head and met her gaze. “I-I’m sorry. That was overly dramatic wasn’t it?”

“For you? No. It’s what you’re known for. We just need to add _music destroyer_ next to _sonnet spouting_ as one of the defining characteristics of a melodramatic teenaged boy.” She sent him a timid smile, hoping her tease would open him up. One corner of his mouth twitched. It wasn’t much to work with, but a start nonetheless.

“So, uh, how did you find my backpack?” he asked.

“At the restaurant. Had to yank it from some server’s hands after he said he couldn’t trust Sara and me with it. Boy was he an ass.”

“Oh, s-so Sara’s with you?” Wirt anxiously glanced at the door.

“Well, she did drive me here. I don’t exactly have a driver’s license. Or car.”

“Oh yeah, I guess that makes sense,” Wirt said, his eyes falling to the CD case, now broken into three large pieces with tiny shards of plastic surrounding it. He looked weary, and it made Beatrice’s heart ache. Did he not want her there? She’d been so set on finding him, but maybe he didn’t want to be found.

“Don’t worry about Sara. She’ll stay up front until I go get her. We thought you might not want both of us back here after that server told us what happened to you.” Beatrice hesitated before adding, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Wirt turned his dejected look her way before letting out a long sigh that ended with him fixing his gaze downward again. His angry fists had become nervously wringing hands. “I-I don’t know,” he mumbled, and when Beatrice tried to take those anxious hands into her own, he tugged away, crossing his arms instead. This time she wasn’t able to fight back the stab of pain his recoiling caused, and all of her anxiety from earlier bubbled over.

Under any other circumstances, Beatrice likely would’ve indulged the urge telling her to retaliate. Him drawing back from her had hurt. He was acting like he didn’t want her there, so why should she stay? And maybe Beatrice the bluebird might’ve done that. But being in a relationship could change a person, and for her, it meant developing the ability to detect nuances. Not everything called for a fight, even if her feelings had been hurt. This wasn't about her. It was about him. “Wirt,” she said his name tenderly, pushing down on her own pain, so she could focus on his. “Remember when I lost you and Greg for days over on my side? Well, when you went missing tonight- even if it was only for an hour- I had to relive that a little. So please, don’t shut me out. I know what happened to you is worse than how I feel right now, but it still hurts knowing you’re suffering. I want to help. Let me help.”

His eyes flicked up to hers. “Beatrice …” he sighed, sounding conflicted.

She tried not to let her gaze linger for too long on his injuries, turning to focus instead on the dark amber of his irises and the pain shining behind them. “You don’t have to tell me about it right now. I can wait. But please …” She impulsively leaned forward and wrapped her arms around him, causing Wirt to briefly stiffen. “Can I at least be there for you?” To her utter relief, his shoulders slackened as he folded into her. Beatrice tightened her hold and after a time, she heard him sniffing. He was crying. Tears were wetting her shoulder, and despite Wirt’s best efforts to stifle them, soft sobs revealed the pain he’d been bottling up inside.

“I-I’m sorry I didn’t call,” he said into the crook of her neck. “It wasn’t right that I made you worry like that.”

“It’s not like you didn’t have anything else going on. And besides, Greg kept me busy watching _Shrek_. Educational movie. It taught me that much like you, ogres have layers.”

Wirt chuckled, and at that particular moment in time, Beatrice thought there wasn’t a better sound in the world. “O-oh, so I'm like an ogre now?” he asked, pulling away, but still close enough that their faces were inches apart. His cheeks were wet and his eyes red.

Beatrice instinctively reached up and wiped a remaining tear away. “Well, you do like to throw CDs. Very ogre-ish behavior if you ask me.”

“Wait, I thought that was being melodramatic.”

Beatrice shrugged. “Why can’t you be both? And isn’t that what I said anyway?” She paused to clear her throat and did her best ogre voice. “Wirt has layers.” When he responded to her terrible impression with a wide grin, she nearly sighed at the sight of it. “Anyway, what I’m saying is, there’s more to you than what’s on the surface. So…” she drew out the word. “Can I peel away one of those layers and ask why you hated that music enough to throw it? I’ve never seen you treat music so harshly. Even pop music.”

Wirt’s grin faltered somewhat as he leaned back into his chair, but this time he accepted Beatrice’s touch when she grasped his hands. “It’s not the music so much as it is the band and its lead guitarist. Although, I suppose the music isn’t all that great either.”

“Does it have anything to do with your dad?” Beatrice asked, but quickly regretted her question after seeing Wirt’s eyebrows knit together in consternation. “We don’t have to talk about it if you’re uncomfortable,” she amended.

Beatrice chewed on her bottom lip while waiting for a response, worried that she’d reverted him back into a despondent state. When Wirt pulled his hands from between hers, the salty taste of blood dripped into her mouth, and she slid her tongue along the tiny area of lip skin her teeth had pierced. Worry continued to coil inside her until Wirt reached into his wallet and pulled out a small triangle.

“It’s a guitar pick,” he explained before she could ask. “It was my dad’s a long time ago.” Wirt plopped the tiny thing on the table and stared at it with an expression that seemed almost wistful. “One of the last things I remember of him before he left me and my mom was when he gave me this. It probably didn’t mean anything to him- just an extra pick lying around- but I kept it as some treasured memento from this person who obviously didn’t deserve the pedestal I put him on inside my memories. And even after I got older and understood that he wasn’t worth my time, I still … I still kept this. It’s pathetic. I hate him. So much. But there’s this tiny part of me that clings to some hope that maybe my old nostalgic view of the person who gave me this actually exists somewhere. Is that crazy?” Wirt sighed deeply before dropping his head into his hands. Beatrice moved in closer and gingerly removed them to reveal his face again.

“No. You're not crazy. Not at all,” she answered, squeezing his hands. “I think it’s probably very common to want someone who’s supposed to be a parental figure to be just that. It’s not your fault that he isn’t. And you’re not alone either. We all have our own damaged family relationships. Sara’s mom passed away, and her dad is never around. I turned my family into bluebirds, and some of them still haven’t forgotten. Especially Andrew, but that’s mostly because he’s a jerk.” She’d added the insult to her brother for Wirt’s benefit, knowing he’d agree with the sentiment, as they’d never especially gotten along. Sure enough, Wirt smirked.

“Then there’s you,” she continued, staring at him meaningfully. “There’s no mincing words when it comes to your dad. He’s a bad person and he does _not_ deserve you. And I’m sure it probably hurts that he never held onto anything of yours like you did his guitar pick, but that just means you’re not like him. And really, isn’t that a good thing?”

“But I couldn’t even fight him back,” Wirt lamented. “I just ran like a coward. I should’ve thrown his dumb CD back in his face.”

“Are you supposed to fight back when it’s a grown man? I know you’re seventeen now, but that doesn’t make you his match. And he’s your father. That gives him even more power over you.” Beatrice shook her head in frustration. “I know you like to moan over the fact that you think you’re some wimp, but just because you don’t fight, doesn’t mean you can’t. You just choose to do things differently. You use words. _That_ is your strength. There is absolutely nothing wrong with that, and you know what ...” Sitting upright, Beatrice looked at the assortment of items cluttering the nearby shelves. “I have an idea where you can use that talent of yours to benefit you.” She glanced back at Wirt with a smile.

“What do you mean?” he asked, but she was already out of her chair, executing her plan. “B-beatrice what are you- you know that isn’t stuff we can just take. Beatrice. You’re going to get us kicked out of here.”

“You have money don’t you?” she replied, sitting back down with her newly acquired item. “You can just pay for it. Happy late birthday.” Wirt raised the eyebrow above his injured eye, but didn’t object when Beatrice shoved the electronic device in his lap.

“Are you even going to tell me why I need another one of these?” he asked.

Beatrice probably would have, if at that very moment Sara hadn’t barged in. “Sorry guys, I know I said I would wait, but Wirt, your friend won’t stop telling me about all the local bands I just _have to see_ , and I can’t take it anymore. We live in one of the tiniest towns in New England, how in the world are there so many bands here?”

Wirt and Beatrice shared a knowing look and chuckled.

“So,” Sara continued, walking over to them. “I say we pack this up and take it to a less obnoxious place.” She smiled enthusiastically and Wirt laughed again. Beatrice could still detect a trace of melancholy in him, but that went along with who he was. Which meant she’d been able to help him, and with a little more effort, perhaps even give him some closure with his father.

Beatrice stood first and Wirt followed her lead, but just as the three of them reached the door, it swung open and Paul entered. There was a low groan from Sara that Beatrice wasn’t sure the store employee heard or not.

“Hey, Paul, uh, thanks for letting me stay back here. Sorry I brought so many people with me,” Wirt said. “But we’re heading out now.”

Beatrice thought he’d come back to tell them they had to leave, but Paul seemed disappointed by this news. “Oh, that’s cool, I guess. Just wanted to see how it was going. Sara said she had some info for you. Seemed important.”

A faint red mixed in with the light brown of Sara’s cheeks.

“Yeah, she uh, told us we needed to buy this.” Wirt held up the tape recorder Beatrice had _gifted_ him.

“Ya know, Wirt, you’re the only one who ever buys those things,” Paul commented, but then noticed the broken CD at his feet. He leaned down to pick it up and once Wirt realized what he was doing, he stuttered through an explanation.

“T-that’s not yours. It’s mine. Well, it was. Now it’s broken, so I guess it’s no one's. But I-I swear we weren’t destroying your merchandise back here.”

Paul snorted. “Calm down, dude. I don’t give a shit even if this was the store’s.” He flipped over the still intact CD, snickered, and then tossed it into a nearby trash can along with all the broken case pieces. “Because I know music, and that band sucks ass.”


	6. Chapter 6

The constant rain that earlier in the morning Wirt had likened to his own dark and despondent emotions, finally let up as he left the resale shop. It felt almost like a hazy delusion. Was the weather aware he’d been pulled from his dark mood? He would’ve blamed his poetic tendencies for coming up with such a far-fetched theory, but when you knew magic existed, was it so strange to think you could control the weather? And oddly, just like his emotions, the rain may have stopped, but clouds still loomed in the dark sky. It was a mirror of his own internal struggles. He’d made progress, but there was still more to be dealt with. Like going home and facing his family. So, when Sara suggested they go back to her house, Wirt told her no.

“Are you sure? We could watch a movie to help you forget this awful day,” Sara said from the driver’s seat.

Beatrice and Wirt were sitting in the back. They’d been holding hands since entering the car and now she tugged on his. “Yeah, we might have missed the one in the theater, but there are like ten other versions of _Pride and Prejudice_. I know, because you’ve made me watch them all.”

“Actually,” Wirt cleared his throat, “Not counting the modern updates or that strange one with the zombies, there’s only seven.”

When Beatrice blinked and then softly laughed, a sudden embarrassment pushed Wirt into mumbling an apology. “What? No,” she was quick to say. “Don’t feel bad. I might be indifferent to _Austen_ , but I think your weird attachment to her is sweet.”

“Heh, you might be the only one who thinks that,” Wirt commented and then jokingly added, “It’s your fault. You’ve lowered my defenses, and now I speak nerd openly without thinking.”

Beatrice lifted her chin, miming defiance. “Well, that’s a good thing. You shouldn’t hide who you are.”

“Maybe for you, but tell that to someone like my dad …” Wirt looked briefly past Beatrice and out her window, not sure why he was going down that rabbit hole of gloom. “I’m sorry,” he sighed a moment later. “Why am I still thinking about him?” He slouched forward and leaned his forehead against the back of Sara’s headrest.

“It’s not going to go away all at once,” Beatrice said, inclining her head so she was at his level. Wirt turned to face her. “And honestly maybe never. But I think some form of closure is possible.” She reached down to the floor where the tape player was and after picking it up, slid the thing across his lap.

“Tell me again why this will help me?” he asked, sitting upright and staring at the old device, before turning back to Beatrice.

“Actually, I didn’t tell you,” she replied. “So why don’t we go to Sara’s where we can work on this idea of mine without any interruptions from Greg- who you know will barge in first chance he gets.” Beatrice paused and then chuckled. “Oh, and by the way, he’s saying the word shitty now, and apparently it’s your fault, not mine.”

Wirt cringed. “I hope he didn’t say it in front of my mom.”

Beatrice didn’t answer, but by the way her mouth quirked up on one side, she didn’t have to. Hopefully his mom would lay off the lectures after he found out what Scott had done. That might be the only good thing to come out of this.

“So, are we going to my place or not?” Sara asked from up front. “Because I have to take a turn here if we are.”

“Yeah, sure,” Wirt answered. He could deal with delaying the inevitable scene that would play out with his family- his mom crying, Ben feebly threatening to do something to Scott, and Greg possibly saying his new favorite word- if, like Beatrice said, her idea might give him some closure.

When they arrived at Sara’s, her dad was there for one of his rare appearances and grumbled a greeting without looking up from the desk in his study. “Hey, Dad,” Sara replied and then ushered Wirt and Beatrice quickly past his doorway. “Don’t let him see your eye,” she whispered to Wirt. “All he cares about is potential cases and I don't want him seeing you as a client.” Sara rolled her eyes, and Wirt was reminded of what Beatrice had said about all families being fractured in some way. Wirt had his own issues to deal with, but so did Sara. His dad was an abusive deadbeat, and hers was an emotionally absent workaholic.

“I'm taking Wirt into the guestroom to work on our project,” Beatrice told Sara once they’d put enough distance between them and her dad. “Can you call his mom and make something up to give us time?”

Sara nodded. “Sure, I mean it’s not like I haven’t lied for you guys before.” The grin she teased them with felt out of place to Wirt, but that went more along with his mood and not necessarily the actual circumstances.

And when Beatrice quipped back, “Well, I only ask because you’re so damn good at it,” Wirt managed to smile at her joke. But it took some effort.

Once inside the guest room, Beatrice went searching through her bag while Wirt took a seat on the bed. After a minute or so she came to join him, tossing something small in his lap. “My tape to you?” he asked, recognizing the words _For Beatrice_ written in his messy scrawl across the top.

She usually brought his cassette tapes back to him on her weekends spent over the wall. That way Wirt could record over them and continue their routine of communication through tapes. But now Beatrice told him to use it for someone else. His dad.

“Are you serious?” Wirt asked, narrowing his gaze at her. When she nodded, he gulped. “B-but I wouldn’t even know what to say. What should I say to someone like him?”

“I can’t tell you what to say, Wirt,” she replied, leaning her head on his shoulder, her red curls tickling the exposed skin of his forearm. It reminded Wirt of when they had their first kiss sitting in this exact spot nearly a year ago. Only this time the atmosphere felt drastically different. “But,” Beatrice continued. “I think you should tell him stories like the one about the guitar pick. Anything you’ve ever wanted to say to him- good or bad- but haven’t.”

“I doubt he cares. Why should I waste my breath?” Wirt asked, hating how pathetically miserable he sounded. All because of _him_.

“Maybe he doesn’t, but this isn’t about him,” Beatrice replied, trailing her fingers down the length of his arm. “It’s about you- you getting your pent up emotions out. This is your version of fighting. And even if he doesn’t listen to the tape, you’ll at least know you gave him the opportunity to know how you feel. It’s your story for him and also how it’s ending. How you’re letting him go.”

Wirt exhaled and twisted one of her strands around his index finger. “Can you stay while I do this? I know it probably sounds dumb, but I think it might help.”

A sudden jolt ran through him as Beatrice leaned over and softly brushed her lips against his. “It doesn’t sound dumb at all. If that’s what you want, I’ll stay,” she answered after moving away, but with a gentle pull on her arm, Wirt brought her mouth back to his. He wanted to feel the escape of happiness again. It had been an exhausting day filled with sadness and rage, and Beatrice had been a sliver of light in that darkness. “Thank you,” he mumbled through their fifth or sixth kiss. He’d lost count.

“For kissing you?” She veered her mouth away when he tried touching his lips to hers again, a hint of a laugh dancing in her eyes.

“N-no. I mean, yes. That is ...” He paused to chuckle. “What I’m very badly trying to articulate is, thanks for finding me tonight, talking me through what happened- even when I wasn’t receptive to it at first- and then coming up with this idea.”

“And the kissing?”

“Well, yes, that too.” Wirt smirked.

Beatrice returned his smug expression with one of her own and after giving him a quick peck on the cheek, she replied, “You’re welcome,” then went to retrieve the tape player.

But before putting the tape inside, Wirt made sure to scribble over Beatrice’s name with a pen and deride his dad by saying, “Should I write asshole on this instead?”

“Not if you want him to actually listen to it,” Beatrice snickered. “Although, I do have one suggestion for you before you hit record.”

“And what’s that?” Wirt asked, writing _Scott_ instead of the name he actually wanted to use.

“Lay off the clarinet playing, your dad doesn’t seem to appreciate good music like I do,” she lovingly teased.

Wirt looked up at Beatrice, a spark of appreciation lighting inside his chest. Gone were the days of the giddy rush of butterflies whenever she was near. While he still experienced moments of light-headedness- especially when they kissed- more often than not it was replaced by admiration for how she managed to bring out the best in him. Beatrice was his stable force, like a missing piece he hadn’t known was absent until they met. Now he couldn’t imagine life without her. And wasn’t that what love was supposed to be like? Not just goofy grins and falling over yourself, but finding that person who made you whole?

There were many analogies swimming inside Wirt’s head at that moment describing what Beatrice meant to him, but he managed to compartmentalize, saving them for later when he wasn’t trying to focus on his dad. So instead, Wirt simply smiled back at her and said, “Don’t worry. I only play clarinet for those I love.”

* * *

 

The tape took an hour to make. He only filled up one side, but for Wirt, it was enough. At first, he didn’t really know what to say. An awkward greeting of, “Hey Scott, it’s your son. Just wanted to say hi,” was quickly abandoned when Beatrice gave him a funny look. After starting over, he decided not to overthink it and just reached for the first thing that came to mind, which happened to be of when Sara and Beatrice found him. That transitioned into how it was Beatrice’s idea to make the tape and eventually, Wirt worked his way up to the story about the guitar pick just like she suggested. After that, it sort of flowed into a mish-mash of recollections. Some mildly annoying.

 _Oh yeah Scott, I didn’t like going to_ Chuck E. Cheese’s _that year. I was too old. Why didn’t you know that?_

While others were more painful.

 _Mom cried all the time after you left. I thought it was something I did at first. I was only five, how was I supposed to process you leaving. I thought you’d come back. You left most of your things, you had to come back and get them. But you didn’t even call until a year later_.

Every memory Wirt pulled from himself felt cold and wet, like the clothes of a drowning person. Sometimes he thought his voice sounded petulant and other times fury just flowed out of him. But when he was done and had said all he could, Wirt hit the stop button, experiencing a strange sense of vindication, while simultaneously thinking he hadn’t really done anything at all. Did whining and yelling into a tape recorder really count for much?

According to Beatrice, it did, and she didn’t hesitate to tell him so multiple times on their ride back to his place. “But how will I get this to him?” Wirt asked while exiting Sara’s car. “I don’t even know where he lives. He’s always traveling.”

“I have an idea I’m working on,” she told him after they were standing in front of the entrance to his house.

“Are you even going to tell me what it is?” Wirt asked.

“Don’t worry about it now. Just go inside and talk to your family. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She gave him a kiss goodbye and as Wirt watched her walk away, he noticed for the first time since leaving Sara’s, that the skyline was clear enough for him to see the moon. Not a single cloud remained from that day’s rainstorm.


	7. Chapter 7

After removing her shirt and bra, Beatrice discarded them next to Wirt’s tape recorder on the guest bed, and then using one of Sara’s hair ties, she twisted her long tresses into a knot at the nape of her neck. With her back exposed, Beatrice stared over her shoulder into the mirror, letting her eyes roam over the pale pink skin contrasting with numerous dark freckles. But it was the jagged zigzags starting just below her shoulder blades that she lingered on the longest- the remains of where her wings had been clipped.

Sometimes she wondered why her scars were on her back. It didn’t seem to correctly resemble a bird’s anatomy. Wings were representations of arms. If they were removed shouldn’t her permanent reminders of them be near her shoulders?  Then again, clipped wings might also mean going around armless. Beatrice decided she’d rather have scars, even if they were grotesque reminders of her past mistakes.

Usually, she tried not to fixate on them. Gone were the days where gaping in the mirror at her back while changing from one outfit to the next was a regular occurrence. Yet she couldn't resist the urge on an evening like this when her scars felt especially raw. Not only had the rain made them ache, but hearing Wirt explain the damage his father had done to him felt like whispers of Beatrice’s own scars. His stories unintentionally became reminders of her past misdeeds. Of when others had suffered because of her choices.

Like Wirt and Greg. In the woods.

She looked away from the mirror and shook her head, some strands loosening from her hastily put together bun. Things were different now. She was attempting to be a better person, and even though helping Wirt tonight had exposed some nerve endings of emotional pain, it was for the better because putting her all into the good she could do was Beatrice’s way of righting past wrongs. And it made her hope that one day she might be able to view her scars as something other than an emblem of past cruelty.

Beatrice sighed and went to reach for her abandoned clothes when a sudden knock caused her to let out a small noise of surprise. “I’ll be right out,” she said, shoving her shirt back on before Sara could barge in like she always did. And true to form, her friend came waltzing through the doorway seconds later.

“Gee, are you _trying_ to get a glimpse of my breasts,” Beatrice teased, although there was a hint of annoyed truth to her words.

“I got tired of waiting,” Sara replied, plopping down on the bed next to Beatrice's discarded bra, which truthfully wasn’t hers since everything she wore in Wirt’s world had to be borrowed. “And I thought you were in here recording dead air over the other side of Wirt’s tape.” Sara slid her finger under the strap of the bra she had loaned Beatrice earlier and then dangled it in the air. “Were you, uh, doing that topless?”

Beatrice snatched the bra back and retorted, “That’s none of your business.” But the bite in her tone quickly wedged guilt into her heart, and she rushed to apologize. “Sorry. That’s not what I meant. It’s only …” She briefly mulled over the idea of being honest with Sara, but couldn’t bring herself to mention those hideous marks on her back. She wasn’t ready. Her scars were her own secret. No one knew. Not even Wirt. Instead, Beatrice fell down beside Sara and impulsively gave her a hug. “Thank you for helping Wirt out today,” she said. “It means a lot to both of us that you’ve always been supportive.”

“Uh, you’re welcome,” Sara replied. “And I’ll take this uncharacteristic mushy moment from you for what it really is- a distraction from me asking anymore about your outburst.”

Beatrice pulled away. “I wasn’t-” she began, but Sara spoke over her.

“And that’s okay. If you don’t want to tell me why you were traipsing around topless I’m fine with that. I only ask that you keep those carefree moments of yours confined to the guest bedroom. You know, because of my dad.”

Beatrice scrunched her nose in disgust and Sara laughed. “No, really,” she defended herself. “I was just changing and then started thinking about how I’m going to get Wirt’s tape to his dad. Guess I lost track of time.” The issue had entered her mind several times since Wirt left, so she wasn’t technically lying.

“And did you think of anything?” Sara asked, her expression sobering some.

“Yes, but you’re probably not going to like it.”

Sara shrugged. “If it’s for Wirt, how bad can it be?”

“Well, it involves Paul.”

“That guy from the store?” Sara groaned. “Please tell me I won’t have to be a distraction again.”

“No. The part with him comes later. Right now I only need your phone.” Beatrice brought up her hand, curling and uncurling her fingers in a grabby motion.

“You’re going to make me wait even longer, aren’t you?” Sara sighed like a weary parent whose child was always pushing for more.

“It’s for Wirt,” Beatrice reasoned, and after everything that had happened to him that day, it wasn’t an excuse her friend could argue away.

“Alright.” Sara narrowed her eyes and passed Beatrice her phone. “But if you take longer than ten minutes, I’ll start racing without you. And I’ll be using your favorite kart and character.”

“You wouldn’t dare cross me that way,” Beatrice replied, feigning anger by hopping from the bed and glaring down at Sara.

“ _Please_ ,” her friend drew out the word with a laugh. “Save that look for someone who doesn’t know you’re actually a marshmallow on the inside.”

It wasn’t worth disputing her claim. Sara would most likely counter with embarrassing examples of when Beatrice had shown her softer side, starting with her impulsive hug earlier. She wasn’t willing to suffer through that, and with a roll of her eyes that only provoked another laugh from Sara, Beatrice hurried towards the door to make her call in private but stopped when she heard her name. “Yeah?”

“You know, it’s okay to be a marshmallow. And it’s okay to be stubborn as hell too. Both of those things are what helped Wirt tonight.”

Sara sounded sincere and Beatrice wished she had it in her to respond with some form of a thank you that wasn’t laced with sarcasm, but that second part Sara had mentioned- the obstinate ass Beatrice tended to be- refused. “Yeah, okay, _Mother_ ,” she muttered and exited the room to the sound of Sara chuckling behind her.

* * *

 

Wirt stayed up late that night. He thought after his long day, exhaustion would pull him swiftly into a dreamless sleep, but as the hours went by nervousness overwhelmed his senses. It didn’t matter how tired he was. Facing his dad again was nerve-wracking enough to win over fatigue. Could he pull it off without running away like a coward? He wasn’t sure. When Beatrice had suggested it, he’d been certain he couldn’t. But sometime around one in the morning after a quick call to Beatrice for reassurance- who happened to still be up playing video games with Sara- it suddenly made sense. She was right. It was the only way Scott was sure to get his tape.

When Wirt emerged from his room the next morning, he found his mom sitting at the dining room table eating a bowl of granola and fruit. A cup of tea was steaming beside it. She startled when he entered the room, a nervous look briefly shadowing her face, before motherly concern took its place. “How did you sleep?” she asked.

“Surprisingly not that well at first.”

Wirt’s attempt to joke away the awkwardness had the opposite effect and caused his mom to grimace. “Oh, I’m sorry. That’s understandable though considering what happened. Do you need any ice?”

“Ice?” Wirt’s temporary confusion was replaced with a grim reminder that he didn’t just carry yesterday’s turmoil in his memories. “Uh, no, I’m fine.” He resisted the urge to touch his eye.

“Well, at least let me get you breakfast.” She gestured to the chair beside her. He was barely in his seat before she began rummaging through the fridge, pulling out eggs and milk, and then spices and bread from the cupboard. French toast was reserved for special occasions. Clearly, this special occasion was his mom’s guilt. But Wirt would let her work through this in her own way and didn’t protest even though he wasn’t all that hungry. If she needed to dote on him, he’d deal with it.

“I’ll take my coffee black, thanks,” he deadpanned as she cooked, attempting once more to erase the cloud hanging over them.

His mom looked over her shoulder at him, an eyebrow raised. “Since when do you drink coffee?”

“I’m seventeen now. Figure there’s no chance in it stunting my growth anymore. I’m already as short as I’ll ever be. 5’7” seems to be the height you’ve cursed me with. But hey, I’m glad I uh, got most of my genes from you and not Scott.”

He’d mentioned the elephant in the room without being forceful and his mom glanced at him again, an unsure smile on her face. “I’m sorry I was so pushy yesterday,” she said, sliding a plate of syrup-drenched french toast in front of him along with a fork. “I shouldn’t have made you go see your father. Especially since you didn’t want to. You’re old enough now to make that choice for yourself.”

“Mom, it’s okay,” Wirt said. They’d had a version of this conversation the night before. Except that time she was crying, and he wasn’t eager for a repeat. “I told you, Beatrice walked me through it. I only said what I did just now because I want you to know I don’t blame you. Even for my short height.”

He grinned and her smile briefly returned. “I really should trust your judgment more. You tend to be right when it comes to reading people. Especially Beatrice.” She rested a hand on his shoulder. “I’m glad you have her to lean on. She’s good for you.”

“Yeah, she is,” Wirt agreed, then took a bite of his food. “Speaking of which, I’ll be hanging out late with her and Sara tonight. Can I get curfew extended till two?”

Wirt knew he was taking advantage of her guilt, but to go along with Beatrice’s plan, he’d need to be out late, and thankfully his mom gave in without a fight just as Greg entered the room. After spying his older brother’s french toast, he begged for a bite and Wirt obliged his request.

“Are you gonna go fight that shitty gorilla that got loose and punched you in the face?” Greg asked as he took a second bite without asking, dripping syrup on the floor in the process.

Their mom spoke Greg’s name as a warning and went to clean up the mess while Wirt tried not to laugh. “Maybe,” he eventually answered. “But you know it’s much better to solve these things with words. That’s what Beatrice tells me anyway.”

When Greg asked if one of those words happened to be _shitty_ , Wirt gave the remaining french toast to him and hurried out of the room lest he get pulled into a lecture over the consequences of swearing in front of a susceptible child.

* * *

 

I know I jump around in timelines with the fics I write for this series, so just for reference  _Where Our Story Ends_  takes place between the first and second story of _Bases_ , and Beatrice's scars mentioned in the beginning of this chapter are focused heavily on in [Broken Wings](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3871018/chapters/8958313).

 


	8. Chapter 8

Wirt forced himself to stop reliving the events of the day before when he realized his eyes were stinging with tears. This was the absolute worst time for him to be wearing his heart on his sleeve. If he broke down while giving Scott his tape, it would forever haunt him. Not in the same way the darkness from Beatrice’s world did, but still, he’d always remember the humiliation of crying in front of his dad.

“Are you sure you don’t want us going back there with you?” Beatrice asked, using a voice so gentle that he just knew his emotions were bleeding out into his expression. Wirt swallowed the lump in his throat and tore his eyes away from the empty stage. “I could, you know, give him a punch in the face for good measure,” she added, leaning her elbows on the small table they were seated at, and resting her face in her palms. A menacing grin pulled at Beatrice’s lips.

“N-no,” Wirt answered, running a hand nervously through his hair before placing it in his lap. He then spent the next few seconds steadying his emotions by staring at the big black X marked across his hand. “I should do this alone. I don’t want to-”

“Expose me to his negativity. I know. I just don’t agree.” Beatrice made a tiny harumph sound, which despite everything going on, made Wirt smile. “As if this dump isn’t negative enough," she continued, and he caught sight of her own black X as she motioned around the tiny bar with her hand.

“Too bad we have these.” Sara showed off her X. “Otherwise we could drink the memory of this place away.” Beatrice snickered and Wirt raised an eyebrow. “I was kidding,” she said in response to his reproachful look. “Only age appropriate drinks, right?” Then grasping her straw, she used it to twirl the ice in her soda before taking a sip.

“Sorry, I’m just stressed.” Wirt sighed. “But getting Beatrice drunk will only start her singing, and I just can’t deal with that right now.”

“Hey!” Beatrice protested, and Sara laughed.

“It was a joke, to uh, lighten the mood.” Wirt reached across the table and grasped his girlfriend’s hand, attempting to assuage her bruised ego. “Couldn’t you tell?”

“No,” she grumbled. “You’re a lousy comedian. And I don’t like the idea of you going back there alone if you’re stressed.”

“I’ll be fine. Besides, I’m always stressed. This time it’s just a little heightened, but nothing I can’t work around.” He leaned across the table to give her a reassuring kiss, but the sound of a guitar being tuned brought his attention back to the stage, plunging his heart into the pit of his stomach. It wasn’t Scott. Just someone going around checking the instruments. Maybe a roadie. “None of this matters anyway if Paul can’t get us those passes,” Wirt stated, still eyeing the stage, but he glanced away after seeing the person he’d just mentioned approaching them.

“Told ya I could do it,” Paul boasted as he slapped three passes down on the table. “I know everyone in the local music scene. Even the locals one town over.”

Wirt picked up a lanyard and slipped it around his neck. “Thanks, but uh, we only needed one. You didn’t have to go through the trouble of getting three,” he said, catching a glimpse of Beatrice sneaking a pass off the table and into her jacket pocket.

Paul shrugged. “It wasn’t trouble. Especially for these bands.” The dismissiveness in his tone was hard to miss. “Still not sure why you want to go backstage and see them, but whatever. Glad I could help. Now if you’ll excuse me, I got somewhere else to be. Definitely don’t want to stick around for _Klaw with a K_. What a fucking stupid name. Like why do you have to put _with a K_ in your name? I can read. I already know.” He shook his head and Wirt snorted because he’d had the exact same thought yesterday while eating dinner with Scott. But the memory was quickly shoved aside before it could trigger any images of what had happened afterward.

“I think I’m forever musically tainted in his eyes because I came here to see my dad play,” Wirt mentioned while watching Paul walk away.

“You could’ve just told him Scott was your dad,” Beatrice replied, but Wirt responded with a shudder as he turned to look at her.

“No, I actually think that would be worse.”

“You aren’t your father, Wirt.” Beatrice smiled sympathetically. “And I think Paul would get that.”

Even though he knew she was probably right, Wirt shrugged. It was a conversation for another time when he wasn’t trying to summon the courage to keep from breaking down. So, he changed the subject. “Hey, have I mentioned you look great tonight, Beatrice? I uh, love the,” he gestured to her hair, “what you’ve done with your, uh-”

“Hair?” Beatrice finished for him. “You mean how it’s down? Like it always is when I visit, because you like it that way? That hairstyle?”

His forced compliment earned him an eye roll from Beatrice and a chuckle from Sara who said, “Looks like Wirt’s just about as good at distractions as you are.” A mock fight between the two quickly ensued that must’ve been about something he hadn’t witnessed. When the subject of Sara’s bra was brought up, Wirt tuned out, flicking his eyes back to the stage just in time to see his dad and three other men emerge from the sidelines.

“Helloooo,” one of them shouted into a microphone. “We’re _Rat Bite_ and we’re here to rock your ass off. Who’s ready to have some fun?” A smattering of claps and a few enthusiastic cheers followed the lead singer's question.

Wirt cringed at the band’s name. He’d read it on the CD cover before it had become shattered garbage back at the resale shop, but hearing it out loud was something else. Beatrice seemed to agree, because after pulling on his sleeve and bringing his attention back to her, she said, “When you’re backstage don’t get too close. Wouldn’t want to get rabies.”

Wirt snickered, and began responding with an equally bad joke about having all his shots, but was drowned out by a loud guitar riff. His dad’s. And after that, he didn’t feel like making jokes. He’d be happy with just getting through _Rat Bite_ ’s set without vomiting.

* * *

 

The door leading backstage was covered with old flyers from bands that had played before his dad’s. Some, Wirt even recognized as being halfway decent. But not the one that had just been on stage. _Rat Bite_ was a mediocre imitation of a genre of music that had long since had its heyday. Wirt wasn’t even going to stick around to hear what _Klaw with a K_ sounded like. He just wanted to get this all over with.

Halfway through _Rat Bite’s_ set, he’d gone to retrieve the tape player from Sara’s car and now held it in his arms. When the burly dude letting people through the backstage door eyed it, Wirt nervously said, “It’s a gift. Just a cassette tape. See.” He held it up for the guy to inspect as three girls about his age ran through the door unchecked. After a few seconds, the tape player was deemed okay, and Wirt went to head through the door, but Beatrice grasped his hand and pulled him back. “I could still go with you,” she said, showing him the pass she’d snuck into her jacket.

With an exhale that was more sad than frustrated with her tenacity, Wirt squeezed her fingers before wrangling his hand from hers. He hated disappointing Beatrice. “Thank you for finding me yesterday and helping me make this tape, but I just have to do this alone.”

Beatrice’s expression clouded, but she recovered enough from her disappointment to quip, “And I thought I was the stubborn one.”

He gave her a quick kiss and replied, “Trust me. You still are.”

“Whatever,” she said shortly, but with enough flippancy to show she wasn’t really mad. “Text Sara when you’re done, okay? Don’t lose your phone this time.”

“I won’t,” Wirt promised, but then clarified, “lose my phone, I mean, and not that I won’t text you. I will text you. Sooner rather than later.”

“All right, that’s enough,” the man in charge of the door growled, shoving Wirt through it without giving him a chance to say goodbye. Somewhere behind him, he heard Beatrice shout an insult.

Without anyone holding him back now, Wirt gulped and walked forward into the room, clutching the tape player like his life depended on it. He observed a few peculiar glances from others as if they were sizing him up, and it occurred to him that his sweater vest and khaki combo probably didn’t fit in with his current company. He certainly didn’t look like the lead guitarist’s son anyway. “H-hey,” he nervously greeted one of the people staring at him.

The man nodded and asked, “You wanna beer?” When Wirt showed him his X, he laughed and said, “Good one,” while shoving a bottle at him.

A few steps later, Wirt made sure to set the drink down when no one was looking and began slinking away from it when he suddenly halted, his eyes locking with Scott’s. For nearly twenty four hours, Wirt’s mind had shown him many dark images of this moment. Of how his dad would be shouting, and he’d be cowering. Another shove to the ground sometimes followed, with Wirt sniveling or crying. And it always ended the same, with a dad humiliating his son, who would run away as some imagined sad song played in the background. Maybe _Bon Iver_.

But in reality, the situation was much different. Scott grimaced at the sight of Wirt, like their roles were reversed. Then with a nervous sideways glance, as if he were searching for a quick exit, his dad stuttered, “W-what are you- who let you- why are y-you here? Your mom said I wasn’t allowed near you anymore. That she would-”

Wirt surprised himself by keeping cool as he held up a hand to stop his dad from stumbling over any more words. “I’m not staying. I just wanted to give you this.” He set down the tape player next to his abandoned beer. “Listen to it if you want. It says everything I’ve ever wanted to tell you.”

Scott didn’t move. Instead, he just continued to pathetically stare at Wirt, like he was mentally willing him to leave. Which, Wirt did moments later, without a glance back. It all was so very clear to him at that moment and the knowledge of what his father truly was felt like a heavy weight being lifted from him. Scott was no longer a burden. Like Beatrice said, this was where their story ended.

* * *

 

The two sides of Beatrice- the marshmallow and the stubborn ox- were warring with each other, and this battle manifested itself as her berating the man who had rudely forced Wirt into the back. “I wasn’t ready for him to go yet, you big jerk.” She showed him her fist, but the man just chuckled, a reaction that only set her off more. A few epithets later, Sara had to intervene.

“Do you want to get us kicked out? Swearing at the doorman is not gonna help Wirt.”

“I know,” Beatrice finally sighed after her stubborn ox receded into the background, leaving the marshmallow goo free to coat her insides. “I’m just worried.”

“Don’t be. If you want a healthy, normal relationship, you have to let Wirt be Wirt,” Sara said, leading Beatrice back to the table they had been sitting at during the show. “That means letting him figure stuff out on his own sometimes. I know how you two started was dramatic and felt like you had to face the world- well, two worlds- together. But that’s not always the case. Sometimes life calls for boring.”

“So, step one in a normal relationship is to do nothing?” Beatrice snarked.

“Now you’re getting it.” Sara patted her shoulder and then stood again. “Hey, let me get you an age-appropriate drink to soothe the sting of being normal for once.”

“Fine,” Beatrice muttered, burrowing her face into her folded arms on the table. “Make sure it has a cherry in it this time,” she added from her alcove.

Sara chuckled as her footsteps receded into the background of the noisy chatter among those waiting for the next band to play. Beatrice hoped Wirt would finish before that happened. She was in no mood to sit through another round of awful music.

After a few minutes spent hiding in her hole, Beatrice looked up again when she felt a light tap on her shoulder. “It better have a cherry,” she grumbled but changed her tune when she saw it wasn’t Sara. “You’re back. Already?”

Wirt smiled. “I suddenly realized, I didn’t care.”

“You didn’t give him the tape?”

“No, he has the tape,” Wirt replied, sitting down next to her. “Whether he listens to it or not, that’s his business. I don’t really care.”

Beatrice twisted her mouth to one side, trying to understand this sudden change in her boyfriend. “Why don’t you care?”

“Because of you.” He reached under the table and pulled her hands into his, the warmth of his touch making her heart flutter. “And funny enough, it was him acting like me that got me to see it. He was afraid of me. Well, of my mom, actually. And I realized, I didn’t care. This man is so weak, he has to push others around to make himself feel big, but once he didn’t have that power over me anymore, he shrank. The thought of being carted off by the police for assaulting his son took away all of that fake machismo. You were right, I am so much better than him and he doesn’t deserve me. You convinced me of that.”

An overwhelmed Beatrice marinated in Wirt’s story for so long that he assumed she wasn’t happy. “H-he’ll probably listen to the tape though. I think. Your idea wasn’t for nothing,” he tried to reassure her.

“Oh, shut up, Wirt,” she playfully groused. “I don’t care if he listens to it. That was always for you anyway. I’m just amazed that even with me not going back there with you, I was still able to help. Sara was right. Boring works!”

“What?” Wirt’s brow furrowed.

“Oh, nothing,” Beatrice replied, moving in to kiss him full on the lips long enough that Sara finally returned and ended their short make-out session by loudly clearing her throat.

“I take it all went well?” she inquired with a smirk on her face. Beatrice wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and took the drink Sara was offering. “It has a cherry, by the way. Try not to let Wirt choke on it when you kiss him again.”

“It went, uh, fine,” Wirt answered Sara’s question while ignoring her tease, a creeping blush coloring cheeks.

Beatrice decided to save him. “Since you’re done, I say we head to your place, Wirt. There’s probably even enough time to watch another _Shrek_ movie with Greg. I hear the second one is the best.” There actually wasn’t enough time, as it was after eleven, but she wanted to get a dig in at Sara for her joke.

And just like Beatrice hoped, Sara groaned at the idea, but when the lead singer of _Klaw with a K_ came onstage seconds later and shouted into the microphone, she changed her mind. “Anything is better than this.”

Applause and cheers filled the room as the three friends got up to leave. They were for the band, of course, but a small part of Beatrice- that marshmallow again- imagined it was a congratulations to Wirt for his accomplishment in realizing he could move on from his father, and also for her continued efforts in proving she wasn’t her scars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. And if you've enjoyed what I've written, comments are always appreciated and encourage me to write more. A big thanks to PullTogether for all the beta reading.


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